


Glaze

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21514834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: To Ignis’ great shame, Noctis is a brat.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 18
Kudos: 92





	Glaze

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s incredibly inappropriate to be shirtless in the Citadel, which is why Ignis’ thin button-up still clings to his body, though he’s rolled the sleeves all the way past his elbows and he’s dared to undo the top three buttons. Noctis, on the other hand, is impossible, and he’s been walking around in just his dark jeans. If he weren’t the crown prince, he surely would’ve been thrown right out on his ass. Ignis still scolds him, but Noctis never listens. A part of Ignis does understand.

It’s an incredibly hot summer day, and the sprawling kitchens are broiling. They’ve found a small room in the back where they can do their experiments, which would frankly be easier at Ignis’ apartment, except that his air condition’s broken, and any time they try to get anything done at Noctis’ place, Gladiolus and Prompto inevitably show up to distract them. For the most part, the kitchen staff has left them alone. Any cooks that do wander by tend to linger, staring shamelessly at Noctis, but as soon as Noctis looks over at them, they quickly scamper off. Ignis has become mostly immune to the sight. It doesn’t help that Noctis is slightly flushed from the heat and beaded with little drops of stray sweat, making his well-toned body glisten in certain places. But Ignis has incredible will power and staunchly keeps his eyes on Noctis’ face. He explains while their donuts cook behind them, “They don’t _need_ icing. They’re already extremely sugary.”

“But I _want_ icing,” Noctis presses, just like he wanted donuts, to the point that he even offered to help make them if Ignis would just shut up and let him have some. Ignis should really have said no. They’re in no way part of a healthy diet. But Noctis kept whining, and it’s too hot to fight. And at least he’s finally got Noctis in the kitchen. Noctis isn’t exactly learning the valuable skills Ignis wanted to teach him, but it’s a start.

“We’re not icing them, Noct.” Ignis puts his foot down. Noctis squints. 

He turns to the tray the chefs provided, laden with everything they could’ve ever possibly wanted for their dessert adventure. There are several bags of icing, including an enormous one stuffed with a thin, milky white paste that’s borderline a liquid. Noctis holds it stubbornly out and insists, “Show me how to do it.”

“I said no.”

“Iggy, c’mon!”

“Noct, _no_.” He tries to take the bag from Noctis’ hand, but Noctis won’t let go. Ignis jerks harder—Noctis tugs it back. Ignis tries to maneuver it under his arm, but Noctis latches on with both hands, and they wrestle over the bag until it inevitably explodes with a loud popping noise that nearly makes Ignis summon his lance on sheer instinct. The gooey contents splatter everywhere, mostly both of their faces and upper bodies, slicking across Noctis’ bare chest and both their arms. They both drop the bag in surprise, but the damage is done. Ignis has to remove the glasses to wipe off what he can. Except there’s nothing safe to wipe it on. Noctis snatches up the glasses and licks the left lens, which has Ignis groaning in disgust.

“Noct?”

Ignis’ head snaps around. Through his facial mask of creamy liquid, he gapes at the king, who’s just squeezed into the kitchen alongside Cor. Ignis doesn’t know which witness is worse. He stares in horror as the two officials look wide-eyed between them.

Ignis can see the wheels turning in their heads. Ignis and Noctis are both in a state of relative undress, flushed pink and breathing hard, and to top it all off, they’ve coated each other’s faces in a mysterious translucent white substance. He can only splutter, “It’s icing!”

Noctis licks some off his lips. He isn’t helping _at all_.

After a moment of tense, awkward silence, Cor steps forward. He scoops a small bit off Ignis’ cheek with his index and middle finger, then cautiously brings them to his mouth. He takes a tentative lick and reports, “It is icing, Sir.”

Regis’ shoulders slump in obvious relief. Ignis has never been more embarrassed in his entire life. The king awkwardly announces, “I came to speak to you about our upcoming Altissian delegation... but I believe it would be better to wait until later when you’re decent.”

Ignis can only nod. He feels properly chastised, though Noctis looks completely unbothered. Regis and Cor stiffly make their exit.

Ignis hangs his head and sighs, “We should go clean up.”

“Pfft,” Noctis snorts, “No way. I still want donuts!”

“Noct...”

In the meantime, Noctis reaches out to enjoy some of the icing that’s splattered between Ignis’ open collar, and Ignis can only bemoan what his life’s become.


End file.
